


Unfinished

by Foxtrots



Series: Beginnings and Endings [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, part of an AU series but can be read as a stand alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-15
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-09-24 16:27:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9770330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Foxtrots/pseuds/Foxtrots
Summary: John has reason to believe Mary isn't finished with her assassin career and seeks help from Sherlock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Anyway here's my first time writing a smutty fic.   
> It's part of a series but can be read as a stand-alone. The events of series 4 haven't happened and Eleanor is John and Mary's baby. There. You're all caught up.   
> I've found this series is starting to get a story arc and I'm debating if I should edit all of the works into a multi-chapter fic, or continue here on out as a multi-chapter fic or just leave it as is and keep updating it as a series? The whole plot thing wasn't intentional.

  
“What's this?”

“John?”

John stood in the doorway of 221b, completely soaked from the pouring rain. Sherlock was in his dark blue dressing gown, obviously not expecting any visitors. And why would he? It was nearly midnight and the last person he'd expect to see at his door was John Watson.

The past month had been rough between them. Nearly having sex in a hotel room really put a gap in their relationship. John refused to talk to Sherlock and even text him, ashamed of what he did. That he kissed Sherlock and let things go as far as they had. Sherlock had avoided contact with John, unsure where their friendship stood.

“What's this?” John held up a closed envelope. There wasn't a name or address written on it. It was just blank.

“I'm not sure.”

“What's this?” John began to sound frustrated, as if he couldn't figure out why Sherlock couldn't magically see the contents of the envelope.

“Why don't you come in.”

Inside, John hung up his sopping wet coat and kicked off his shoes. Sherlock went to get the kettle on, deciding John needed a warm drink after being in the rain for so long. As the kettle warmed itself up, Sherlock took a seat on the sofa and held his hand out for the envelope. John reluctantly handed it over and Sherlock held it to the light. There was something inside.

“Who was it from?”

John shrugged. “I found it.”

“Where?”

“It doesn't matter where!” John snapped. The kettle clicked itself off, but neither of them went to pour water for tea. Sherlock kept his icy stare on John. Something was wrong and he was willing to patiently sit and wait for him to say what exactly was bothering him. Even if it took all night.

“Can I open it?”

“No!”

Sherlock placed the envelope on the cushion beside him and settled his hands in his lap. John stared back at Sherlock, waiting for something. A deduction, maybe. Maybe he'd stand up and point out how very clever he was and deduce what was in that envelope and might as well deduce what John had for breakfast just to show off. But Sherlock didn't move from the sofa. In fact, John wasn't entirely sure if Sherlock was even blinking. It looked as if he had just turned into a statue.

“How's Mary?” Sherlock slowly asked, treading carefully. Something about Mary was bothering John. That was why he was here at midnight instead of snuggled up in bed with her. John had work the next day (he worked weekdays) and for him to be out this late was unusual.

John frowned. “Fine,” he muttered, rubbing his left shoulder.

“You clench your jaw when you're stressed out.”

“Do I?” John asked through closed teeth.

Mary wasn't the only thing on John's mind, Sherlock found. John's posture wasn't relaxed – shoulders raised, holding a high amount of tension. John impatiently cleared his throat, waiting for Sherlock to reveal the contents of the envelope and that put the final piece into the puzzle. John hadn't had sex since the conference. Had been avoiding sex, keeping it away from Mary. Their relationship was on the rocks and John had left his home at midnight to seek the detective's help, leaving Mary and Eleanor oblivious and asleep.

Sherlock glanced to the envelope beside him. It obviously had something to do with Mary. Something happened that made John feel the need to take the envelope to a professional to find out what was in it without opening it. If Mary had just given it to John, he would have opened it by now. So the envelope was for Mary. Had something to do with Mary.

“Where did you find it?”

“How--” John was about to ask Sherlock how he knew the envelope was found, but decided not to waste time on such a question. “Mary's underwear drawer.”

“Hmm.” So John had been snooping around Mary's belongings. The envelope had importance to Mary or else she wouldn't have hidden it in such a secretive place. A secretive place, but a place she could easily access. And a place John didn't come across often. Mary did the laundry and put away the clothes. John would have no reason to go through her clothes unless he was suspicious of her. Thought she was hiding something. But he and John couldn't just open the envelope, otherwise Mary would know it had been tampered with. “Why don't you trust her?”

“Who?”

“You know who.”

John took in a deep breath through his nose. “Little things, I guess. Some days I notice she didn't wear her wedding ring. One day she just about lost it when Eleanor started playing with her purse. Said there was something in there she didn't want Eleanor getting at. I thought maybe she had some hard candy in there, something Eleanor could swallow or expensive makeup she could ruin.”

“And what was in the purse?”

“I don't know.”

“John.”

“She had cleared out the purse before I went through it. Whatever was in there was gone. There was her wallet and some makeup and feminine products and car keys. Just normal purse stuff.”

“But you found something that wasn't so normal.”

John furrowed his brow, angry that Sherlock could figure out his story before he could even tell it. “Bullets. A few loose bullets at the bottom of her purse.”

“Anything else?”

John shook his head. “Still don't know where the gun is. I went about her things, trying to find it when I found the envelope.”

John picked up the envelope before he sat down in its spot and placed it on his lap. A mix of emotions were expressed on his face. Anger, betrayal, sadness, and a certain look of hurt Sherlock had never seen before.

John flipped the envelope around in his hands. It was perfectly sealed. “When we had Eleanor, she promised me her past life was finished. She wouldn't do what she used to do. She'd be a wife and mother and we'd have a normal family.”

“Well, you know, assassins make a generous amount of money for their jobs,” Sherlock replied, trying to find some optimism in John's situation. “So she could be saving up for Eleanor's university education. Maybe she wants a bigger home or nicer things. Perhaps she was planning a nice trip for the both of you.”

John shook his head.

“We haven't seen what's in the envelope. For all we know it's a cheque with a very large sum of money from a family member. Maybe a belated birthday card from a friend. We can't form conclusions when we ignore the--”

John threw himself against Sherlock and knocked him over. Before Sherlock could realize what happened, John had his damp lips against him, kissing every bit of bare skin he could find. Kisses trailed form his lips, cheeks, and neck and that wasn't enough. John started to tug at Sherlock's pajama shirt, trying to pull it over his head while not letting it get tangled in the dressing gown.

John pulled away when the shirt got caught over Sherlock's head and he stood up from the sofa. “Come here,” he muttered as he left that floor and went up the stairs to his old room.

Sherlock struggled out of his shirt and dressing gown. His skin was still wet from John's kisses and part of him wanted to stay seated on the sofa. John clearly wasn't thinking straight. If he had been mortified to kiss Sherlock in the hotel room, why would he come on to him like that? A pit developed in Sherlock's stomach. It was just a way to get back at Mary. The only thing he was good for was some type of revenge.

Despite all that, he left the sofa and followed John up to his room. Because they might never have another chance at this. Even if it was for the wrong reasons, Sherlock still wanted to be part of this.

John was undressing when Sherlock entered his room. There was a certain eagerness to John's movements, but no passion. No love, no caring, just some kind of readiness to get back at Mary. John threw his shirt on the floor and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, kissing him again. Sherlock could feel John's cock through his jeans.

With a swift movement, John had Sherlock pinned to the bed. The unused bedsprings creaked at the sudden weight of them. John's fingers felt their way through Sherlock's hair and Sherlock tried to stop himself from trembling. This was so much easier to do when drunk.

Sherlock squeezed out of his pants, but felt suddenly self-conscious to be dressed in only his underwear in front of John. Sherlock pulled himself under the covers for some shred of privacy. Soon enough he was cocooned under the blankets, stuck between John and the old mattress. When he struggled out of his underwear, he slowly stretched his legs out. It had been ages since he had sex and he wasn't particularly looking forward the to uncomfortable stretch John's cock would give him.

“We're not doing it like that,” John whispered against Sherlock's neck. Suddenly the eagerness had left. John's voice grew softer and his movements became smoother. “If you don't mind,” he went on, a timidness coming into his voice, “I'd like to...be on the receiving end.” John's cheeks turned pink with embarrassment and Sherlock let out a rumbling laugh. That old John he had fallen in love with was back.

“If that's what you want,” Sherlock replied.

“It is.” John reached over to his old beside table and pulled out that bottle of lube he kept there. Luckily Mrs Hudson didn't clean out his room when he left all those years ago. John sat up and awkwardly got out of his jeans and underwear all while trying to straddle Sherlock beneath him.

John pulled back the blankets and coated his fingers with the lube and glanced at Sherlock's hard cock. Sherlock felt sudden embarrassment as John stared at him and he just wanted to hide under the blankets again. No one ever saw him this vulnerable or this exposed and he was nearly afraid John would say something hurtful.

But John didn't and he stroked Sherlock's cock with his wet fingers. It had been ages since anyone touched Sherlock like that and he gave out an involuntary groan as his hips twitched. “Easy now,” John said playfully. When he was finished, he poured some more lube over his fingers and this time reached around to get himself slick and loose. Then without warning, he hovered over Sherlock's hips (and with some difficulty) lined Sherlock's cock with his ass and sunk down on him.

The two groaned, Sherlock arching his back and John biting his lower lip as he felt that familiar stretch. “How's that?” John asked, his eyes meeting Sherlock's.

“Fine.”

“Yeah?”

Sherlock just stared at the sight before him. Of John sitting on his cock, and the sight of John's fully erect cock. Sherlock took in every detail he could from his soft stomach to his old gunshot wound.

“I've wanted to do this for ages,” John admitted as he leaned forward, placing a hand on Shelrock's chest for balance. “Thought about this a lot. Never really though it'd actually happen.” John gave a shy smile as he rolled his hips. Sherlock immediately reacted by pressing his head back into the pillow. That was a sight to see: Sherlock bare and vulnerable in front of him like that. John kept moving against him, kept rolling his hips into Sherlock and watched as his breathing sped up, the way his fingers clenched into the bedsheets. Sherlock had his eyes squeezed closed and breathed heavily through his nose.

John grabbed onto his cock and began stroking it as he rode Sherlock. The poor detective was all but squirming beneath John and that was a sight John promised himself he'd never forget.

“H-how's that?” John asked.

“John...” Sherlock replied. Hearing his name send shivers down his spine.

The bedsprings squeaked as John quickened his pace, rocking his hips against Sherlock's.

“John?”

John kept his eyes on Sherlock. “Yeah?”

“John.” Sherlock suddenly opened his eyes and they locked onto John's. They stared at each other as John fucked him and it was only then Sherlock began to realise how ridiculous all of this was. How they were  _actually_  having sex. Everything Sherlock felt was  _John_  and it made his heart race and his chest heave. “John.”

“I'm here.”

“John.”

“I'm here.”

“Jo-” Sherlock wasn't even able to finish his name when he suddenly reached his climax. Sherlock stared at the ceiling, his mouth slightly open as he felt...how did he feel? Like he was falling and floating at the same time. Like he was drowning and swimming. That feeling he had when he finished a particularly hard case. Euphoria and excitement and calmness all wrapped into one.

Sherlock sank into the mattress, looking completely relaxed and at ease, looking comfortable but still vulnerable. That very sight sent John over the edge. John came into his hand and dripped onto Sherlock's stomach. 

John slowly sat up from Sherlock and flopped beside him. They were messy and sweaty and out of breath, but John didn't have the energy to do anything about that. Instead, he wrapped his arm around Sherlock's bare chest.

The two stared at each other, their noses practically touching. Sherlock was trying to find something clever to say while John wasn't sure what to say. But instead of speaking, they both burst out into laughter. John his hid face into Sherlock's neck while Sherlock laughed his deep laugh. The laughter died down to giggles and then they went quiet.

There was nothing to say. Everything had already been said.

John closed his eyes and held Sherlock closer.

 

 


End file.
